Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Fifty Years Ago - by Bob Atkinson

Poem of the Month, December 2013

When I Was Young
Poemwriter: Herbert Kretzmer

seems the love I've known has always been
the most destructive kind
guess, that's why now I feel so old
before my time

yesterday when I was young
the taste of life was sweet
as rain upon my tongue

I teased at life as if it
were a foolish game
the way the evening breeze
may tease a candle flame

the thousand dreams I dreamed
the splendid things I planned
I'd always built to last
on weak and shifting sand

I lived by night and shunned
the naked light of day
and only now I see
how the years ran away

yesterday, when I was young
so many happy songs
were waiting to be sung

so many wild pleasures
lay in store for me
and so much pain my
dazzled eyes refused to see

I ran so fast that time
and youth at last ran out
I never stopped to think
what life was all about

and every conversation
I can now recall
concerned itself with me
and nothing else at all

yesterday, the moon was blue
and every crazy day
brought something new to do

I used my magic age
as if it were a wand
and never saw the waste
and emptiness beyond

the game of love I played
with arrogance and pride
and every flame I lit
too quickly, quickly died

the friends I made all seemed
somehow to drift away
and only I am left on stage
to end the play

there are so many songs
in me that won't be sung
I feel the bitter taste of tears
upon my tongue

the time has come for me
to pay for
yesterday, when I was young

Fifty Years Ago
(c)2014 Bob Atkinson

heard a song played on ceiling speakers
while dining at that special place
lyrics fervent in their meaning
about how adults could at him rage

didn't know his mind of reason
understood his feelings not
couldn't hold a candle to him
in depth of inner thought

papa kept him from his passion
Mary that sweetness imbued
with all his inner strength
to work hard for a car to use

let him wander aimlessly
down school halls so late to class
picking up where he left off
homework's not finished in his bag

many yells and screams at him
by folks not in the know
about the latest dance step
or what's good to wear of clothes

driven, his mind by hormones
dripping sweat down from his brow
while playing full court basketball
in front of the hometown crowd

left him prideful and aware
of his importance there that night
how could they see him as the one
who never turns out the lights

or cleans his room with passion
or finishing a plate of food
while contemplating sadness
one of his many moods

this kid who loved to nothing do
now laments these same hard trials
as the song was written years ago
about his teenage child

No comments:

Post a Comment